


never on the basis of anything more than this

by decinq



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3846925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decinq/pseuds/decinq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Kent comes out in an interview after the Aces' third Cup win, he goes to stay with Jack's family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never on the basis of anything more than this

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [if you’re one of us, then roll with us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3829198) by [defcontwo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo). 



> a million thanks to [defcontwo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/defcontwo/pseuds/defcontwo) for letting me take her idea and run with it, and, as always, a million thanks to ngozi. 
> 
> this hasn't been beta'd because /someone/ is the best beta i've ever had, and /someone/ needed to be surprised by this.

Jack watches Kent win his third Stanley Cup on a Wednesday night.

 

He scores, of course, because--well, it’s Kent. Jack isn’t bitter. He was, once, and watching Kent win the cup the first few times felt like acid in his mouth. But...not now.

 

He’s proud of him.

_way to go, dude_

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Jack watches Kent come out on national television not five minutes later.

 

“Holy shit,” Jack’s dad says, which--yeah.

 

“I--” Jack stutters. “Fuck.”

 

“Call him,” his mom says. “Right now.”

 

“He’s in gear, he won’t have his phone.”

 

“What good would it do?” Jack asks.

 

“Tabarnac,” Bob says. “Tell him he’s welcome here. Jesus, Jack.”

 

“Right,” Jack says. “Right, okay.”

  
  
  


 

 

 

He opens his phone to find a text from Bitty that says _Assuming you saw. Wow_

 

Jack texts back _ya_

 

Bitty instantly replies _If you talk to him, tell him thanks. He’s brave._

 

Jack, again, says, _ya_ then closes the message to find Kent’s contact info. He dials, and it goes straight to voicemail. He hangs up. “Il n’est pas là,” Jack says.

 

“Laissez un message.”

 

He calls back, says, “Kent. It’s me. Uh, Jack. I’m sure you’re--or. Call me back, or text me. Something. We--we have a rink, you know, there’s plenty of space. If you need a place. And, listen. Sorry. About December. Please call. My mom and dad say well done, that they love you. Mama says to bring your sister with you.”

 

After he hangs up, he texts, _im sure ur phone is off, but im gna email u 2_

 

He sends another a few minutes later,   _i meant it. you did good_

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

Jack’s parent’s house is thirty minutes outside the city. It’s off the island, so the land around it is all hills and trees and water. Jack doesn’t know when he stopped thinking of it as home, but it hasn’t been for years. It’s beautiful, and Jack loves it, but it’s not--

 

Something is missing, now. It wasn’t missing before, whatever it is, but Jack can’t feel it when he walks in the front door, when he hears his mom say, “hi baby.” He still answers her, “hi mama,” like he always has. It’s just different.

  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

Kent and his sister fly in on a red eye, and Jack picks them up from baggage claim.

 

“Jacks,” Sammy says, and she wraps her hands around Jack’s middle.

 

He laughs, hugs her back, says, “Hey Sammy. How you been?”

 

“Damn happy to be away from mom for a bit, and even happier to see you.”

 

“She loves you,” Jack says.

 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” She lets go of him to swat at his arm, and steps to make room for Kent.

 

Jack meets his eyes, and he knows that the smile that pulls at his cheeks is half sad. Kent has his carry-on hung over his left shoulder, and he has dark circles under his eyes. “Hey Kenny,” Jack says, and then Kent has his arms wrapped around Jack’s middle much in the same way his sister had. The pressure around Jack’s ribs is nothing compared to the pressure on the inside of his chest, but when he pulls his arms around Kent, Kent fists the fabric of Jack’s shirt in his hand, and something inside Jack shakes free.

 

Jack hugs him back for longer than is probably appropriate, and then Sammy says, “bags are unloaded.” They pull apart, and Kent smiles sheepishly.

 

“Hey Zimms,” he says, and he adjusts his bag on his arm. “Thanks for comin’ to get us.”

 

“Anytime,” Jack says, and means it.

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

Jack doesn’t have siblings, but Jack does have a fuck ton of cousins, and they all like Kent better than they like him. Which seems like it should be against some kind of rules, honestly; they laugh at Kent’s jokes and don’t ask him for autographs, and Jack’s dad lets Kent help with the grilling, which, what the fuck, Jack’s never been allowed to help.

 

Sammy slides up beside him. “You have a massive family,” she says, and takes a sip of her beer.

 

“They all hate me.”

 

She shakes her head. “Don’t know you very well. Or, well. You know: if it walks like an asshole and talks like an asshole.”

 

“Get out of my house,” he says, but he’s laughing, can’t keep a straight face.

 

“You love me,” she says.

 

“Yeah,” he says. “Could’ve gotten on board with a sibling. Make fun of my parents a bit more.”

 

“I don’t know, Bad Bob seems to be lookin’ at him like he’s the son he never had,” she waves her beer in Kent’s direction.

 

Jack laughs, and says, “Oh my fucking God, I don’t know why I invited you here.”

 

She leans her head on his shoulder and says, “Yeah, you do.”

  
  
  
  


Truth be told, they don’t spend much time together the first few days that the Parson siblings are staying there. They all eat dinner together, but Kent spends a lot of time in the huge backyard with Sammy, or she and Jack go shopping in the city, or Jack has meetings with trainers or Georgia, and suddenly four days have passed and Jack hasn’t been alone with Kent. Which--huh. He tries to do the math of that and finds that it’s entirely possible that Kent is avoiding him. Which fucking sucks if it’s true, so when Jack wakes up on Saturday morning, he knows he has to fix something.

 

He brushes his teeth and then makes his way to Kent’s room. Kent likes to sleep as late as he can, doesn’t function properly until halfway through his first cup of coffee. It used to be one of Jack’s favourite things about him. Maybe still is, but he tries not to think about it.

 

Jack taps softly on the spare bedroom that Kent is staying in, and opens the door. Kent’s mouth is open, and he’s curled on his side, knees pulled high, and he’s drooling just a bit.

Jack thinks about letting him sleep, but it’s already after 9, so instead he moves to sit on the edge of the mattress, and nudges Kent’s side.

 

Kent wakes up slowly, blinks a few times and then closes his eyes again. He groans, but he also rolls to press his face into Jack’s thigh.

 

“Kenny,” Jack says.

 

“What?” Kent huffs against Jack’s leg.

 

“I--” Jack stops. He takes a deep breath, but the hesitation is enough to cause Kent to stur. He looks up at Jack, his hair falling across his forehead where it’s gotten long.

 

“You okay?” Kent asks, and Jack can’t tell if he means it sincerely or not. In the time they’ve been apart, Kent has gotten a lot better at hiding his emotions. It’s not something Jack would have expected; it probably isn’t fair to want to keep the seventeen year old version of someone around, but Jack yearns for the ease that they used to have, instead of this--saying anything to Kent feels like walking through mud.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, too serious for 9:47 on a Saturday morning.

 

“What for?”

 

“Fucking--” Jack says. “For everything. I’m really sorry.”

 

Kent nods again, says, “Me too,” and drops his head back on the pillow.

 

When Jack stands, a few minutes later, Kent meets his eye. His expression is blank, without much of anything showing on his face. He blinks a few times, and Jack blinks back. “Okay,” Kent says, agreeing to something Jack doesn’t know the details of but knows he’s a part of anyway, and Jack nods, because it seems like it matters.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

“Take me skating,” Kent says, and Jack says, “Sure thing.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

“I didn’t do it for you,” Kent says while they’re taking slapshots.

 

“Didn’t think you did,” Jack says. He nets his shot, then says, “I know you think I’m a selfish asshole, but I’m--Jesus, I know that shit isn’t about me.”

 

Kent slaps a puck at the net, and it hits the crossbar. The echo of the missed shot rings out around them in the empty rink. Stops.

 

“I still--” Jack turns to look at Kent, lets his shoulder relax, lets his weight shift back on his skates. “It was still brave. It still mattered to me. It’s still--”

 

“I don’t love you anymore,” Kent says.

 

Jack nods. “I know.” And he does know. He doesn’t deserve it. They were young, and it’s easy, Jack knows, for things to feel like they’re the end of the world when you’re eighteen. It’s something he thought he would never understand, but as he’s gotten older, everything has gotten easier; the weight becomes easier to bare.

 

They both fucked each other up a lot. Jack can be a piece of work. Kent isn’t guilt free, he can be a real asshole--

 

But.

 

“Doesn’t mean I don’t fuckin’ miss you, though.”

 

And--yeah, Jack knows that, too.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

Sam wants to go clubbing, which Jack and Kent both pass on, but Jack’s cousin Émilie agrees to take her, promises that Sam can stay over. Sammy’s an adult, Jack doesn’t really care what she does, as long as he knows that she’s safe.

 

Jack’s mom and dad go out for dinner; they’re doing a new bi-weekly Date Night, capital letters and all, and so Kent and Jack are alone for dinner.

 

“Pizza?” Kent asks, a sparkle in his eye.

 

Jack rolls his eyes but says, “Yeah, okay fat ass.”

 

“I don’t even need to say anything back to you about your ass, this line of inquiry speaks for itself.”

 

“You love my ass,” Jack says as he orders pizza online. “I’m going to have to run like 50 miles tomorrow after this.”

 

“You fat ass needs the exercise if you think you’re ever gonna beat me on the ice.”

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

They eat the pizza in the back yard, sitting on the patio swing his mom bought years ago. They’ve laid it out on the patio table, and eat with plates on their laps and glasses of wine in their hands.

 

“I don’t remember the last time I did something like this,” Jack says as he refills his wine class. “There’s always been something to do, something to worry about. It’s weird. College was weird.”

 

“You loved Samwell,” Kent says, leaning his head back on the seat cushion. “And what about that guy? The cute southern one.”

 

Jack takes a long sip of his wine. “Hmm.” He swallows. “Bitty. Eric. Yeah.”

 

“It serious?”

 

Jack thinks about how Bittle is his only contact on snapchat with any emojis beside his name, how he’s been texting Bittle constantly since they both left campus, how Bittle’s eyes had welled up when Jack and Shitty had stuffed their boxes away, officially leaving the Haus forever, and how, when Jack had hugged him goodbye, he’d found himself wiping at his own eyes, unembarrassed and incredibly sad. He thinks about how Bitty’s freckles must be out in full force, all his time at camp spent out in the sun. He thinks about the Haus smelling of cinnamon and butter, the sound of Bittle’s voice from the shower.

 

“Feels serious,” Jack says, and swirls his wine around in his glass. “I want to try.”

 

“That’s good, Jack,” Kent says, and when Jack looks his way, Kent is smiling, and it seems sincere. “You deserve that.”

 

“Sorry,” Jack says, and Kent chuckles, genuine and light, so Jack adds, “Thank you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Kent spends his time with the Cup with his sister, and they take it to Jack’s dad’s favourite sports bar. Bob calls some of his old teammates and friends, and they book out the entire place, and the staff all get photos with Kent and the Cup. They drink beer and laugh and Jack hears stories about his dad’s time in the NHL that he’s never heard before.

 

Jack thinks it’s funny that he’s known his dad his entire life, and knows so little. And Kent--Kent and Sammy with their amazing mom who did it all on her own, who is stronger than anyone Jack’s ever met--always seems to be the one to get the good stuff to tumble out of Bad Bob’s mouth, the stories never ending, the laughter genuine, all flattery and no disappointment.

 

Jack knows that his dad loves him, loves him more than anything other than maybe his mom, and even then it doesn’t really compare, isn’t a contest. Jack knows that he looks like his dad, but has his mother’s wide eyes, knows that both his parents see the other when they look at him. He knows and he knows and still, always, there’s--

  
  
  
  
  
  


Kent and Sammy rented a car to drive to the lake, and in a few days they’ll be gone, and things, Jack thinks, will probably go back to the way they were.

 

His dad is playing golf, and his mom is in the backyard watering her garden. Jack waits for the Keurig to finish his coffee, and then he goes to stand with her. Her hair still glows in the sunshine, and it’s not late enough in the day for the light to be overbearing, just this side of warm, and Jack is blindsided by how much he loves her.

 

“Hi baby,” she says, and Jack thinks that her smile must have broken hearts before his dad found her.

 

“Hi mama,” he says, and stands beside her.

 

“How’d you sleep?” She asks, gently waving the hose over her patch of strawberries.

 

“Not bad,” he says, and takes a sip from his mug. “What’re you doing today?”

 

“I’ve got a yoga class at 5, but I’m just hanging around here. I might try to get a little real work done.” She takes his mug from his hands and sips down half his coffee, then hands it back.

 

“Can I come to yoga with you? I have to skype with the trainers at 1, but I should be done by 3 at the latest.”

 

“That sounds fun. When will the other two be back?”

 

“Don’t know, probably late.”

 

“Is he doing okay?” She asks, and Jack shrugs. “He seems better than when they first got here, but I can’t actually tell. I think I used to be able to tell.”

 

“Me too,” Jack says, and presses his side into hers. “He’s different He's changed, I guess.”

 

His mom hums softly, then says, “So have you, baby.”

 

“I’m trying,” Jack says.

 

“One day at a time,” she says. “That’s all anyone else is doing.”

 

Jack nods, and then says, “I was thinking I might go visit Eric before I have to go back to Rhode Island.”

 

“I like him,” she says.

 

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Me too.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

They all pile into Bob’s SUV to drive Sammy and Kent back to Trudeau International. Jack’s parents sit in the front and ask Sam questions about what she’ll be taking in the fall. Bob is particularly interested in her astronomy classes, which had surprised everyone other than Alicia.

  
  


They stay while Kent and Sammy check their bags. Jack’s parents hug both of them, tell him to call anytime, and Bob hugs Kent for a long moment, and whispers something in Kent’s ear that makes Kent’s eyes look deeper than Jack has ever seen him, but then Kent is smiling and nodding, and says, “Thank you for everything.”

 

Sam hugs Jack hard, tight around the middle just like when he’d picked them up 34 days ago. He kisses her forehead and says, “You better stay smarter than the rest of us,” and she laughs and says, “like that’s even a challenge.”

 

“I’m proud of you, brainiac,” he says.

 

She lets go and says, “I’m proud of you too, Jacks.”

 

“Call me, I’ll fly you out when I play against this jerkoff.”

 

“Jack,” his mother says, and Kent laughs.

 

“I can pay for my sister to come watch me kick your ass.”

 

“I offered first,” Jack says.

 

“Whatever, losers should pay anyway.”

 

“Oh my god,” Sammy says. “I’ll come watch and I’ll cheer for you both and I’ll wear a Crosby jersey just to fuck with you both.”

 

Jack hugs her again quickly, and says, “Love you, kid.”

 

“You too. Keep on keepin’ on, eh?”

 

“Of course.”

 

She steps back, and then Kent is in front of him, a mirror of a month ago. Kent adjusts his bag on his shoulders and says, “Well.”

 

Jack steps forward and wraps his hands around Kent’s shoulders, squeezes tight. “Thank you,” he says. “Kenny.”

 

“Anytime, Zimms,” he says.

 

“I promise I’ll--”

 

“Jack. Just take your time. It doesn’t matter.”

 

“It does matter, it matters a lot.”

 

“Sometimes I think you’re the only friend I’ve ever had,” Kent says, and his arms finally squeeze Jack back.

 

“That’s a lie,” Jack says. “People’ve always liked you better than me.”

 

Kent steps back from Jack, and smiles softly, and he looks so much more like the boy that Jack remembers, 18 and soft around the edges and soft in the middle. Jerry-built, and trying.

 

And Jack thinks that maybe everyone is jerry-built, trying their hardest to do what they can in any given moment, one day at a time. Kent and Jack, Jack’s dad, Kent’s beautiful mom and genius baby sister, Jack’s gorgeous, generous mother, Bittle and his loud laugh and softer hands--they’ve always felt better, to Jack; stronger than everyone else. But maybe everyone’s shortcomings are just like everyone else’s; sure, hockey is a game, but Jack’s life isn’t a contest. He’s successful. His family is healthy and safe.

 

Kent did the bravest thing Jack can imagine, and maybe they aren’t perfect, but they’re trying.

 

“You’re a good friend, Jack. The best.”

 

“Yeah,” Jack says, and smiles. “You too.”

  
  
  
  
  


 

 

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from Donna Tartt's _The Secret History_ : “I forgave him, a hundred times over, and never on the basis of anything more than this: a look, a gesture, a certain tilt of his head.”


End file.
